


Magic of Movement

by RainbowMagicMarker



Series: Misyl Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Halamshiral, Orlais, dance, masque - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowMagicMarker/pseuds/RainbowMagicMarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the danger of the peace talks passes and some sense of order is brought to the rulers of Orlais, the masque turns to a more mundane purpose. Having spent her evening working in the shadows, Inquisitor Lavellan sees it at the perfect time to play her own card in the Grand Game and make a rather bold statement of her own, a statement involving her supposed manservant and her abilities as a mage. A dance, a statement, and a warning to the courts in the space of a single song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic of Movement

**Author's Note:**

> A quick thanks to everyone who's encouraged me, and to everyone who reads this, and if anyone is curious what I'm (trying) to describe here is a somewhat simplified version of an Argentinian tango.

"With me." She spoke with calm command and yet there was barbed wire beneath her silk words, words that left no room for argument. It was rare that she reminded him of her position as Inquisitor, as the head of an organization he had pledged himself to of his own free will. When she did, however, it was fascinating. Oh yes it would certainly be fascinating to dominate her will, to manipulate her to his own pleasure, and yet she took so easily to her position of power. He was certain that she had some training as First, her clan seemed more open than some that he had encountered, and when she spoke to him with that tone his response was automatic. 

"Yes, Lethallin?" He murmured, politely offering an arm and letting her lead him through the throng of gossiping nobles. He felt both proud and possessive as they drew the attention of the crowds, she may not have been dressed as elaborately as some of them but she drew more eyes than any, even that dark haired woman that shadowed the Empress. An oddity for certain and yet he felt there would be more time to examine her. His vhenan had started the evening as an oddity, and now they parted before her steps and held their breaths for even a slight glance from her eyes. And yet they all averted their gaze when he caught them staring, all turned their attention elsewhere rather than risk being caught watching her manservant. He had learned many interesting things under that guise, but it seemed she had something else in mind for him now. 

It was almost too late when he realized where she was leading him, and by the time he pulled his warning gaze away from the prowling nobles he had no choice but to follow her, the momentum of her purposeful steps drawing him forward. It was at the edge of the stairs, on the brink of either being led down onto the dance floor or falling down the stairs and humiliating himself and the Inquisitor, he had to admire the clever ploy in the same breath that he questioned her plans. 

“What are you doing?” He hissed quietly against her ear, though his tone was gentled by curiosity that won out over any irritation he may have felt about being drawn into the limelight. Silently she drew him to the center of the floor, her right hand rested against his shoulder and her left interlaced with his fingers. 

"I," She underlined her words with the first step of the dance, leading him along, "Am making a statement." She spoke simply, following the turn of the dance. He raised an eyebrow but questioned no more, it was a rather quiet statement if that was truly her purpose, he could indulge her at least a little bit. "I have been looked down on and judged by these fancy-dressed shems all night, it is about time they realized how meaningless they are." Though she spoke with the same calm confidence as always there was a certain undertone of contempt and distaste. Perhaps it was not quite as extreme as when she had first woken up in Haven, but she still treated most humans with scorn. While she was more open to learning the true history of the Dalish than many he had met, it would seem that some habits were harder to break than others. 

He had not had much time to consider it, let alone respond, when he felt her push against the Veil. He heard, rather than saw, the crackle of electricity as her foot slid across the marble, and the gasp it elicited from the crowd that had mostly ignored them until now. When he met her eyes she smirked, and he couldn't quite stop himself from returning the look. 

_Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing._

The crackle of electricity and feel of magic bubbling through her woke up ancient memories, he wasn't in an Orlesian court, he was in the height of Arlathan's power, a time when magic was woven into all walks of life, and in his arms he held a beauty and wisdom that he had no desire to reject. It was slightly more difficult to call the magic than it had been in those days, but it did not take much for veilfire to flicker at his fingertips as he pulled her closer. The steps changed as he took the lead, though she caught on quickly. His hand drifted to the small of her back, his foot sliding forward to hook against her heel leaving a wake of smoke and energy. She understood, though no words passed between them, and lifted her heel against his calf. A push, gentle but enough, and she spun through his fingers with a laugh, sparks arcing through the air between them to be met with a gasp from the nobles looking on. 

He was deaf to them, his awareness limited only to the soft skin of her wrist as he gripped it, catching her up in his arms and pulling her back against him. The warmth of her back pressed to his chest, and the way each click of her heels as she moved pierced through the veil and drew shocks of lightning into the material world. His hand pressed over her stomach, reveling in the heat of her body and the rise and fall of breaths heavy from exertion and adrenaline. He felt her heart hammering against him and lowered his lips to her neck, unable to resist soft kisses to her pulse and a coy smile tugging against his lips as they moved, scaring the marble with the force of their intertwined magic. 

He leaned away and she followed the cue, her leg twisting and rising to catch against the back of his shins, leverage to twist her, drop her, and she was falling towards the marble but there is no fear in her even as the tip of her braid brushes against the marble with a crack and a bolt before his calloused hand tightened its grip of her wrist and pulled, sweeping her back up into his waiting arms, clinging to her in desire and desperation and a nameless feeling more intoxicating than any drink could ever hope to be. 

She pushes him back and he steps away raw fade energy marking the floor with his passing, drawing her hand with him, drawing _her_ with him, lingering at the edges of her finger tips as his eyes devoured her. The shift from push to chase is subtle, the feigned rejection of her pushing turning into a hungry pursuit as he steps back, only the tips of his fingers pressed to hers, his free arm behind his back. His eyes are devouring her now, even in the uniform of the Inquisition she was beautiful, dark brown hair offering up flashes of red in the candle light, no clothing could hide the grace of her elven form or the confidence she carried in each step. Certainly nothing could disguise the skill and thrill with which she wove magic in her wake, into her movements, a skill that he had not seen in so long. She was the one who should be worshiped, honored in the half-truths and stories that the Dalish told, his actions could never live up to her heart or her soul. 

Rapidly he steps forward now, fire rearing up in his steps as he scoops her up, lifts her, spins her, breathless in his impulse and the strength of his want and another laugh passes her lips. He is quick to set her on her feet again, his arm finding the small of her back and her hands grasping at his shoulders as he lowers her down, his hungry lips finding her eager ones, parting easily and without prompting beneath his attentions, and for a long moment nothing else matters but the taste of her on his tongue and the weight of her body in his arms. Not Corypheus, not the orb, not his lonely quest through the ages, there is only this kiss and this woman and this moment hung infinitely in time. 

She is the one who breaks the kiss, the slow and faint applause of an awestruck crowd reaching her ears and she draws back from him, gasping for breath and her cheeks flushed from adrenaline and perhaps the faintest tinge of embarrassment at having lost herself in the moment. He only smiles at her as he pulls her up gently, holding onto her until he is certain that she has her feet under her, and then offering an arm with all propriety and politeness that society and tradition might demand. She takes it easily, leaning in to kiss his cheek before raising her head proudly to scan the crowd with her eyes, to see that each one of them was paying attention now. 

"The Inquisition stands." She spoke calmly, quietly, though her voice carried and she knew she had their full attention, the barbs of warning beneath her words are sharper than ever, "For the elves. For the mages. For the _People_." And the hints of what might happen if they dared to stand against her went unspoken, and she needed no response from them as she turned, leading him from the dance floor and leaving the veil week in the wake of their dance. 

"Ar lath ma, vhenan." Are the only words that he can breathe as the humans part to let them through the great hall and into the quiet of the gardens, equal measures of respect and fear offering them some privacy for the moment. It is only out of the corner of his eye that he catches the horrified but impressed gaze of Josephine, though he can see in her eyes she is already calculating how to use such a scene to their advantage. 

Let them work it out, he would take his leave with Misyl and, perhaps, take the time to teach her the proper steps of the dance.


End file.
